Chapter 7 - The Crash and The Ultimatum
I didn't actually go to the corporate retreat. I stayed at a hotel ten minutes away from David's house. I wanted to be close in case of a genuine medical emergency, but far enough away that he couldn't run to me for help.
My phone started ringing at 6 PM on Friday. I ignored it.
It rang again at 8 PM. Ignored.
By Saturday morning, he was texting me frantically.
Mom, please. The twins painted the dog. Tommy threw up. I haven't slept.
I replied with a single thumbs-up emoji and turned my phone on silent.
For 48 hours, David lived the life Clara had lived for years.
He had to cook, clean, break up fights, soothe crying toddlers, change blow-out diapers, and try to keep his sanity while sleep-deprived and overwhelmed.
He couldn't sit on the couch. He couldn't check his phone. He couldn't watch his shows.
Every time he sat down, someone needed him. Every time he closed his eyes, someone screamed.
He was drowning. And for the first time, there was no one there to throw him a life raft.
When Clara and I returned to his house on Sunday evening, the place looked like a war zone.
Toys were scattered everywhere. The smell of burnt toast lingered in the air.
David was sitting on the floor of the living room, a baby asleep on his chest, holding a half-empty bottle. He looked terrible. He had dark circles under his eyes, his shirt was stained with spit-up, and his hair was standing on end.
He looked exactly how Clara used to look.
When he heard the door open, he looked up.
Clara walked in, looking refreshed, glowing, and completely at peace.
David didn't yell. He didn't demand to know where she was or complain about his weekend.
He looked at her, and then he looked down at the baby sleeping on his chest.
“I'm so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking.
It wasn't a defensive apology. It wasn't a manipulation tactic. It was the sound of a man whose ego had been entirely shattered by reality.
“I didn't know,” he said, tears welling up in his eyes. “I didn't know how hard it was. I didn't know you never got to sit down. I thought... I don't know what I thought. I'm so sorry, Clara.”
Clara didn't rush to comfort him. She stood there, holding her overnight bag, looking down at him with a mixture of pity and resolve.
“I know you didn't know, David,” she said evenly. “Because you never cared to look.”
She walked past him, heading toward the stairs.
“Where are you going?” he panicked, careful not to wake the baby.
“To take a shower,” Clara replied without stopping. “And then I'm going to pack a few more bags.”
May you like
David's face dropped. “What? Why?”
“Because I am taking the kids and staying at your mother's house for the next month,” Clara said from the top of the stairs. “I am not divorcing you today. But I am not living with you right now, either. You need to figure out how to be a partner, David. Because I am never, ever going back to being your maid.”
